Compulsions
by A Drama Queen
Summary: Vanity decides he needs Grouchy by his side, so the narcissist makes it his mission to drag his crush kicking and screaming into his loving embrace for all eternity. Grouchy isn't sure how to, ah, respond appropriately to Vanity's affections. They want each other, hate each other, want to smash the other's head on a rock, but hey, that's love.
1. Hit and Run

_Magnificent_, Vanity hummed as he looked in his mirror, standing underneath the great oak. That was really the only way the smurf could describe himself. He dragged a hand down his cheek, unmarked skin just the right shade of smurfy blue. He tilted his head so a pair of pretty light blue eyes caught the sunlight and shimmered like… like a fresh stream… or, uhm… diamonds! Yes, just like beautiful diamonds. He smiled at his reflection. Completely flawless -

A bulky mass hurtled across the forest floor and slammed into him, tossing his _wonderful_ self on to the dirty, muddy ground. His eyes squeezed shut and his free arm flew to protect his precious face just as he collided with the earth. Smurfs will roll, he promised himself as he felt cool grass press up against his cheek, if his pants were stained.

Vanity cracked one eye open with an almost morbid curiosity. A smurf simultaneously sporting a hideous combination of red hair and plaid was lying a few feet away, moaning. Gutsy, he should have known. The smurf never saw where he was going, color blind as he obviously was.

Vanity was vaguely aware of a voice that was just dripping with S_cottish_ spouting an apology, but didn't bother to respond. Honestly, sometimes, the other smurfs just weren't worth his time.

"And I'd thought you were an oafish fool before. A giant slingsmurf, Gutsy? You have truly fallen deep into the abyss of stupidity."

Gutsy grinned dopily up at Grouchy, who had walked up to the two smurfs as if they were an interesting. "Ya shoulda' seen meh fly…" Gutsy trailed of dreamily.

Grouchy didn't bother to respond, simply turned to Vanity and grudgingly offered a hand to help him up, pointedly annoying Gutsy. Vanity shifted his eyes up and looked at Grouchy's face - really bothered to _look_ for the first time - and felt the universe explode into a barrage of multicolored fireworks and sparkles. Vanity trembled, his eyes stretched wide and a desperate breath caught in his throat.

_...He's gorgeous, _Vanity thought dizzily. And, really, Grouchy was. His complexion was lighter than Vanity's; it would be such a nice contrast to see in a mirror, pressed up against his own sky toned skin, Vanity's fingers running down it, petting it. Grouchy's slight body, Vanity was sure, was just the right size to look good dangling off of his arm - not too little to look pathetic, and not too big to be cumbersome. Vanity wanted to own it, dominate it. Grouchy's eyes were a shining dark blue, reflecting Vanity's likeness like a wonderful, built in, living mirror that made his image absolutely _sparkle._

"Well? Do you want to lie down there all day?" Grouchy snarked, becoming impatient.

Vanity was giddy. His left hand shot forward, his right still holding the mirror, ensnaring Grouchy's own appendage with a forceful grip. Vanity hauled himself up, a happy buzz zipping through his fingertips. He would have kept holding Grouchy's hand, too, if Gutsy hadn't decided to stand up and ruin things _again._

"Woooohyyyy! Whadda ride, eh?" Gutsy marched right through the two smurf's linked hands, breaking the contact and making Vanity's eye twitch. Grouchy was unimpressed, remaining expressionless except for a single raised eyebrow. Vanity smirked in approval. Good, remaining calm and composed in the presence of imbeciles was a good quality to have. It would come in handy during their future relationship, he was sure. Vanity studied Grouchy as he retreated into the distance with Gutsy without even bothering to say good bye.

Vanity supposed that he didn't actually have a lot to consider about the situation. He closed his eyes momentarily and smiled. Grouchy was extremely desirable, while Vanity was faultless and therefore rightfully deserving of anything remotely comparable to himself. Consequently, Vanity reasoned, Grouchy belonged to him. Or at least he would rather soon. It was the most logical course events could take.

Vanity began walking toward the river smurf. He always did his best thinking while gazing lovingly at himself in the water, and he needed to come up with a smurfy plan. Grouchy, Vanity had a feeling, would need some persuasion to see things his way.

Not much convincing though. After all, Vanity mused as he strolled, they were both perfect, and Grouchy would sense that. There was really no way anything could go wrong.


	2. Combustion

Grouchy was on fire. Unexpectedly, flames had engulfed him, and suddenly he felt like the air underneath a rocket, buzzing unpleasantly and burning clumsily in the decimating heat. Heat rolled and pounded on him in waves, wrapping around him like an Anaconda and crushing his chest with all the hugging power of a giggly, musclebound wrestler. With every laborious breath, his muscles wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap, while his skin ballooned around him like a bubble. _He ached, he was burning, he was going to die._

"Darling, did you hear me?"

Grouchy muffled a groan of pain as the monster on top of him pressed farther down. He had to cross his eyes to see it tighten its grip and press their noses together. Every instinct, already buzzing like a swarm of hornets, went into overdrive.

Letting loose a desperate war cry and a panicked fury of flapping limbs, Grouchy was pleased to feel Vanity slowly roll over and lay to rest on the ground. He turned, scrambled up over a tree root and sat with his nose in the air like he was Azrael ejecting a particularly nasty hairball. Vanity watched him, looking amused.

"Grooouuuchyyy," he drawled, giggling as the other smurf winced at the syrupy coo, "I'd have sworn you would be more receptive to my offer."

"You're insane!" Grouchy's composure shattered as he screamed at the sick, drooling loon bent at his feet. _Pathetic, _he sneered, _hardly worth my time_.

Still, he slipped his left hand farther down into the tangle of tree roots and broke off a sizable chunk of wood. The heavy club was a reassuring weight in his hand, and he felt a small measure of relief as he held it behind his back.

Vanity's brow furrowed. "No, I'm not, I assure you. If you'd calm down and think rationally for a moment—"

Grouchy let out a harsh, barking laugh. "I'll calm down when you get far, far away f- from… muh, me…"

Vanity has taken Grouchy's intense screams of protest as an invitation to slither up into his lap and rub against his side, gazing at him with half lidded eyes. Grouchy watched with horror as Vanity's skin flushed, pupils dilating.

Grouchy squawked and the club fell from his hands, smashing on the ground with an earsplitting crack. Startled, Vanity jolted back onto his haunches, looking dazed. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Grouchy leaned back on his hands and swung at Vanity with his legs like a battering ram, wincing when they made contact with what felt like a brick wall. Knocking him to the ground. Grouchy kept his momentum moving, flew off of the root and hit the ground running, leaving Vanity's moans of agony behind.

He ran like the devil was gnawing at his heels, and even when the rough, weedy ground turned into the soft grassy village hills, he only slowed down enough to glare at his curious neighbors. He didn't ease up until his door was shut and bolted, and his kitchen set was established as a triple barricade.

He collapsed to the floor shaking like a leaf, unable to do anything but watch the ceiling spin in a sickening kaleidoscope of grays and browns. Spots of blood danced in front of his eyes as he struggled to regain his breath. No matter how many handfuls of oxygen he choked down though, the floor still slid through his hands like sand. In fact, he noticed dizzily, the sand seemed to be eating through the entire floor. He felt the ground dissolve into a great shifting mass. He pawed at the ridges in the wood for purchase, but the grainy planks seemed to part between his fingers and melt beneath him. It was almost comforting, then, after the black fizzling at the edges of his vision enclosed him, and everything stopped feeling like anything all.

* * *

><p>When he woke up, he had to reach up with his fingers to pry his eyes apart, they were so coated with sleep. Blinking groggily, he could tell by the cool night air and gentle chirruping of crickets that he had slept through the evening. The slight clench in his empty stomach didn't hurt now, but he knew he'd be cramping in the morning. He'd have to skip breakfast too, if he didn't want to try and wrangle a second helping from Greedy during breakfast.<p>

Attempting to salvage his back, he peeled himself off the floor and stumbled through the house, into his bed. Pulling the covers over his head, he breathed in the smell of air soaked in darkness. Shivering under a coat of sweat, his thoughts turned to what had driven him to such comedic, awe inducing _pain._ He shuddered again, and not because of the touch of a draft on his wet skin.

_"Grouchy, you're very special. Do you know how many others would love to be in your position?"_

Grouchy wimpered and squeezed his eyes together.

_"For today is the day I make all your dreams come true."_

Grouchy jammed his fingers in his ears and dug deeper into the dark nest of blankets. His dreams? No, smurf, his nightmares.

_"There are many benefits my mate will be entitled to, the greatest being unrestricted access to yours truly. Seven days a week, twenty-four seven."_

_The husky purr of a wildcat. "And do you know who that lucky, lucky mate will be?"_

Grouchy stuffed his mouth with pillow and screamed_._

_"You."_

The pillow burst into a cyclone of feathers against the wall. With nothing to muffle his fury, Grouchy's screamed reverberated across the room, shaking the furniture and ruffling the curtains. He collapsed, pounding his feet and fists on the mattress, snot dripping down his face as he worked himself into a proper tantrum.

_NO!_ He wouldn't do it! Vanity couldn't make him!

Promises of murder surged forward faster than he could wrap his tongue around the syllables to form words. His flailing limbs were soon weighed down with thick chains of fatigue, and still he kept going until his throat was pounding in time with the nails in his head, and his knees shook when he bent them up.

He stared at the crack between the curtains until sunlight peeked through, burning his salty eyes that were as dry and cracked as seaweed. As the hours ticked by, he'd sworn to himself…

_I'll hate Vanity. I'll hate him more than I've hated anyone ever before. I'll hate him. I hate him, I hate, I hate…._

His misery pooled around him like an ocean of pathetic self-pity. He'd burn Vanity's precious face off with it too, if he had his way.


	3. Cupid's Atom Bomb

**Me: Hello Smurfs and Smurfettes! I've got some announcements to make.**

**Vanity: *sarcasm* How marvelous.**

**Me: Zip it, Romeo. From now on, I won't answer any more reviews in the authors notes.**

**Gutsy: HALLESMURFJAH!**

**Me: *glare* Glad to see you're so torn up about it. If you have an account, I'll answer you in my traditional style (or not, you'll have to specify) in a PM if you want me to, and I'll still be sending out thanks to all of you guest reviewers.**

**Grouchy: I don't hate these people...**

**Me: Thank you to all:**

**Guest reviewers Zee and Hecter Zacopa and reviewers with accounts, SilterValon, Cherrim Princess, Nyx811, Dotchi13, Sand-wolf579, MoonValley, and Zikore. You all help keep me going!**

**Snappy: Smurfs belong to Peyo. The tyrant only owns the story.**

**Me: ****_TYRANT?_**** You ****_miserable little_****- actually, I should get that printed on my coffee mug.**

**Review please!**

Vanity loved water. It was a perfect glassy mirror, and left his pearly skin flushed and rosy. When he got home, sore with mud crawling up his skin, the first thing he did was march to the bathroom and slam down the lever that dropped hot water into the washtub.

The rush of steam was immediately gratifying. He'd had to pay for the system dearly; he'd been reduced to practically begging the soft-hearted Handy to design and install all of it for him.

The end result was worth the grain of dignity; he sighed as he dropped his pants to the floor and slipped into the searing water. The heat pried open clenched muscles and practically forced him to relax.

His heavy spirit brightened considerably as the tension in his body drained away. He tipped his head back and exhaled noisily, a satisfied smile blooming on his lips. It was one of many practiced gestures; special poses and motions Vanity knew made him irresistible to watch.

Thoughts of a young, dark-eyed accessory to see and appreciate him inevitably lead back to what had soured his mood so. He had, he thought heatedly, never been so appallingly insulted in the entire length of his life. How dare Grouchy throw such a dreadful tantrum, embarrassing them both so horribly. Thank heavens no smurf was there to see.

Vanity daintily plucked the ivory soap from its dish and scrubbed his arms, using controlled, practiced strokes, moving steadily down from the shoulders to the elbow.

Worst of all, he groused, he had no idea what had caused such a lashing out. The rejection, while impossible, could have been handled with class. Instead, Grouchy had _hit_ _him. _It was juvenile, but Vanity admitted it still stung.

He narrowed his eyes furiously. Why? His scrubbing became more agitated until he was grating the soap bar against his knees like a hunk of cheese.

His proposal had been flawless. There was no feasible way it could have failed. Milky white froth began to build up around the edge of the tub as he upset the water with his frantic stirring.

A diamond bubble popped on the tip of his nose. Scrunching his nose, his thoughts turned to another kind of gemstone. His eyes widened and the soap slipped from his hands. A diamond!

He stood quickly but unsteadily, sloshing water over the sides of the tub, the suds making him uncharacteristically clumsy as he leapt out of the water. He fumbled as he stepped over the floor, nearly slipping three times as he threw on a towel and rushed to his bedroom.

He flew past his mirror-lined halls, his fingers twitching in the joy of discovery. When he'd propositioned Grouchy, he'd forgotten, in his haste, a token of love!

He dug through his drawers, shoving aside various picture frames wrapped in last season's dressing gowns. The rustle of fabric slowed as the realization dawned on him… he'd made no serious offer of an actual courtship at all.

Vanity's bath towel slipped as, like he was struck by lightning, collapsed onto the floor in agony. What a fool! He howled. Rushing, he'd forgone propriety, pleasantries, all manner of vital traditions to creating a mateship!

Sniveling, Vanity admitted he knew, in his deepest heart of hearts, that in Grouchy's place he would have been momentously insulted as well, despite the brilliant person offering. Crumpled in a puddle of rapidly spreading bathwater, he was left to bemoan his miserable circumstances.

He'd practically left his desired one no choice but to enthusiastically refuse, lest Grouchy was mistaken as promiscuous by taking a lover while they hadn't even a week of courting under their belt.

He rolled onto his back, ignoring the rough scrape of the carpet, and whined some more. He could have had the perfect lover, the prettiest in the village after him, but now everything was ruined. How could he ever hope to make it up?

Vanity pouted and sniffled noisily. Plans never went very spectacularly for him. He was at his best being his most pure, unbound self. But he supposed after his slip-up, he could only try his most perfectly. It was a matter of honor now.

He was going to woo Grouchy like no smurf had ever been wooed before. His mood swinging back up again in a matter of minutes, Vanity leapt up and merrily began tearing apart the room, collecting his favorite paintings of himself, and his most glittery, sparkly knick-knacks.

He briefly considered getting new ones, but just as swiftly turned about and chuckled at himself. If they had been owned by Vanity, they were far more precious than any other jewelry or art piece a smurf could make.

He compiled his treasures in the middle of his dining room table, humming loudly as the creaking tower stretched to the ceiling, swaying back and forth in a strangely absent breeze. The table shuddered as the weight on its shoulders grew.

In barely half a tic of a sundial, Vanity was overshadowed by a massive pile of flowered paper, ribbons, attractive jewelry, and tiny pictures with delicately spun golden frames.

Proudly, Vanity plucked a bracelet and a shimmery, rose patterned piece of paper and began to wrap the piece, securing it with a white ribbon. The paper fell into a series of perfect folds and creases with little effort. He smiled as he looked down at it.

He left the mountain, which was beginning to arch dangerously, and slipped out the kitchen door. His heart fluttered as he passed Jokey's back door and cut across Clumsy's rock garden. Finally, Vanity tip-toed up a set of cold, rocky steps.

He smoothed his hands over imaginary wrinkles in the wrapping one last time before dropping the gift, his heart beating wildly now, on the unwelcoming grey doorstep of his beloved.

The pink shone awkwardly against the colorless background, so Vanity plucked the signature pink flour from his head, bent down and twisted it around the package, securing it with a tiny knot on the stem.

Vanity tried to keep his poise as he hurried away so he wasn't seen waiting for thanks like a boor, but he giggled like a schoolboy dizzy with hormones all the way back to his house.

His mind was clear for what felt like the first time in ages, and his earlier melancholy seemed like a fading dream. His Grouchy would learn that he hadn't truly known the meaning of affection until he'd met and fallen for Vanity Smurf.


End file.
